


creatures of my dreams raise up and dance with me

by bi_lovely



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Beating, Canon Era, Courfeyrac being Courfeyrac, Flogging, Fluff, Hostage Situation, Hurt/Comfort, Interrogation, Les Amis - Freeform, M/M, Mentions of attempted suicide, Poisoning, Some fluff if you squint, Torture, r is a prince
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2018-11-13 02:15:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11174907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bi_lovely/pseuds/bi_lovely
Summary: His father was perched on his precious throne, watching over the interrogation before him. There were several guards; lining the walls, on either side of the throne, standing around Enjolras, and one standing right in front of Enjolras and glaring down at him. Enjolras was on his knees, leaning on one hand and clutching one side of his face with the other.OrGrantaire is the son of the King of France who ran away to live a life separate from his tyrant of a father. But when he and Enjolras are at the top of the barricade with guns aimed their hearts, the King's soldiers recognize Grantaire and he and Enjolras (along with Courfeyrac, Combeferre, Joly, and Jehan) end up in by far the strangest hostage situation in history.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> IMPORTANT: I have three chapters of this book written. It's still a work in progress but I'm posting this first chapter because I really wanna hear from all of you if this is something you like and if this is something you'd be interested in reading the continuation of. So let me know if you want to know how this ends! Enjoyyy:)

Grantaire knew this risk he was taking and it wasn’t just a risk of dying. The National Guard was, of course, made up of his father’s soldiers. He could die, sure, but even worse, he could be recognized. It was a risk that he was reluctant to take, but he would go willingly all the same.

He did feel, however, that Enjolras deserved the truth, no matter how painful it would be to dig up the demons of his past. He had done a very good job of burying his past deep within himself, but Grantaire would do anything for Enjolras.

Grantaire woke on the morning of Lamarque’s funeral with Enjolras’ bare body laid across his own. He reached up and ran his hand through Enjolras’ hair, getting the curls wrapped around his fingers. 

“Mmm,” Enjolras smiled into Grantaire’s neck. “Morning.”

“Good morning,” Grantaire said. 

“Today is the today,” Enjolras said and the small, groggy smile disappeared from his face. It was replaced with something that looked determined, but there was fear there too. There would be fear in almost every face that Grantaire’s eyes would meet today. 

“Yes, today is the today,” Granatire agreed.

Enjolras sighed, kissed Grantaire, and get out of bed. He started to pull on his clothes, picking them out from the disorganized pile of his and Grantaire’s clothes that lie crumpled up on the floor. He began the small tasks that each morning brought, perhaps for the last time. 

“Can I talk to you about something?” Grantaire asked. 

“Later,” Enjolras said. “You need to get dressed.”

“Enjolras?”

“Later.”

“Enjolras?” Grantaire repeated. “What if there is no later?” he sat up. 

“Do not speak like that,” Enjolras said, refusing to meet his lover’s eye.

“Enjolras, please,” Grantaire said. “You know better than any of us that we are not coming out of this alive.”

“No, Grantaire, I do not want to hear all about how we are going to die today again.” Enjolras raised his eyebrows. He pulled his red jacket on. “You have made your view on our revolution very clear and I have made it just as clear that you are free to leave at any time you wish.”

“I have told you that I will not leave your side as many times as I have pointed out the flaws in the revolution,” Grantaire sighed. “Despite these flaws, I will not abandon you.”

“And I thank you for that.” Enjolras nodded. 

“But we must remain realistic,” Grantaire said, “and there is something I wish to discuss.”

“Then we will talk about it before Lamarque’s funeral,” Enjolras smiled. “I promise. But now, you must get dressed or we will be late meeting everyone at the Musain.”

Grantaire sighed and nodded. “Okay.”

“Hey,” Enjolras said gently. 

“Hm?” Grantaire looked up. 

Enjolras climbed back on top of the bed and crawled over to Grantaire. “I want you to think about what you are doing, okay?” 

“What are you talking about?” Grantaire asked. 

“Grantaire,” Enjolras said. “You do not believe in the world we are trying to create.”

“Yes, I do,” Grantaire said. “I want the same things that you want.”

“But you do not think that we can achieve it,” Enjolras said. 

“Right,” Grantaire said, nodding once. 

“You should stay behind,” Enjolras said. 

Grantaire was taken aback. “Wait, what? Enjolras, no!”

“There is no need for you to die if —” Enjolras shook his head. 

“Enjolras,” Grantaire said, snatching Enjolras’ hand and holding it tight. “What did I tell you? I am not leaving your side.”

“I — I do not want to see you die,” Enjolras said, voice thick. 

Grantaire smiled. “Sacrifices for Patria, right?”

Enjolras looked back at him for a long time before smiling half-heartedly then getting up off the bed and walking away.

Grantaire had a dreadful feeling that Enjolras would not find time to talk to him, and sure enough before he knew it he was standing atop the barricade at Enjolras’ side in the early hours of the following morning. Enjolras had been too caught up in the preparations for the building of the barricade that he had completely forgotten to give Grantaire even a moment to say what he had to say, and now here they were, about to die. 

They were down to practically nothing. Few were left alive, there was close to no gunpowder left, and the National Guard was marching toward them once more. 

Grantaire thought that maybe he should tell Enjolras now before they all perished, but his lover had stunned him into silence as usual with his blond hair that rippled in the breeze. His black cravat hung loosely around his neck and his eyes sparkled in the early sunlight. In one hand he held a pistol and in the other, he held a red flag.

“Do you permit it?” Grantaire said suddenly and Enjolras looked at him. 

“Do I permit what?” Enjolras asked, brow furrowed. He was calm, as if the King’s men did not have their guns aimed at him, ready to kill him. 

Your father’s men, ready to kill the man you love, a small voice in Grantaire’s mind rudely reminded him and he quickly squashed the thought before it could grow.

“Do you permit me to die with you? Do you permit me to die for you?” Grantaire asked in a desperate tone and he wasn’t sure why but he found himself smiling.

Enjolras smiled back at him and he did not answer. Instead, he asked, “Can I hold your hand? Please, can I hold your hand now, at the end?”

“My dearest, Apollo, how could ever deny you a thing that you ask for?” Grantaire wondered aloud. 

Enjolras had tears in his eyes but his smile turned into a grin. He dropped his pistol at his feet and he intertwined Grantaire’s fingers with his own. “We are together,” he said softly, “and that is all that matters. All that will ever matter from now and until the end of time.”

For a few moments, Grantaire forgot all of his troubles. Every one of his worries was gone from his mind for a few blessed moments spent looking into Enjolras’ eyes and smiling and not caring at all that they were about to die. 

He should have known, with his luck, that even when he was about to die things could get much worse for him.

The National Guard approached, guns aimed, and the few remaining rebels perched all over the barricade looked down at them with tranquil looks, like they were welcoming death with hesitantly but willingly. 

Then, inexplicably, the Guard froze in unison. It would have been a perfect time for the rebels to strike against them had they not been out of gunpowder. The Amis exchanged puzzled looks, some looking to Enjolras if they were close enough to see him, and they mumbled amongst themselves. 

“Why are they not shooting us down?” “We have no defense left.” “What could they be waiting for?” “Do they mean to frighten us before they murder us in cold blood?”

But Grantaire knew all too well what was happening. He realized it almost instantly and a terrible feeling of dread coiled in his belly.

“My God!” one of the guards exclaimed. “It’s the prince!” he said and all of the eyes of the Guard were fixed on Grantaire. 

Enjolras slowly turned to look at Grantaire with a mixed look of puzzlement and betrayal in his eyes. “Grantaire?” he said. He sounded puzzled and hurt and Grantaire cursed himself for that. 

Grantaire frowned. His voice cracked when he spoke. “I told you yesterday that there was something I needed to speak to you about.”

Enjolras dropped Grantaire’s hand and sidestepped away from him. “No.”

“Enjolras, I am so sorry.”

“But I — I do not understand.” Enjolras shook his head slowly and when Grantaire reached out to touch him he jerked away. “I do not understand, Grantaire — you cannot be — please, tell me you are not —”

“I am so, so sorry.” Grantaire frowned. “Please, believe me, Enjolras, I never wished to lie to you but it was necessary —”

“To spy on us?” Enjolras narrowed his eyes. 

“No! Never!” Grantaire exclaimed. 

“Cease fire!” a guard cried. “Arrest them all!”

Enjolras reached down and lifted up his pistol at those words and three guards came barreling toward him and Grantaire, scrambling up the barricade with some difficulty. 

Grantaire reached out and touched Enjolras’ arm gently. “Do not struggle,” he told him. “If you struggle, they will kill you without a second thought. Please, Enjolras, I beg of you.”

Enjolras glanced at his friends below at the base of the barricade. Some were being dragged away and being placed under arrest, others who resisted were shot in the head and left on the ground. 

“Why should I listen to you?” Enjolras spat. 

“Please do not turn away from me now,” Grantaire pleaded. 

“You are a traitor — a spy!” Enjolras shook his head. 

“I am not,” Grantaire said. “I swear to you, I am not.”

Enjolras looked away from him and to the guards that were nearly there. “They could shoot me now, from where they are. Save themselves the trouble of climbing the barricade. But they won’t. Not while I stand beside you. Not when they are at risk of missing me and hitting you. What should that lead me to believe?”

“Enjolras, please!” Grantaire yelled.

The guards were close. He needed Enjolras to go quietly, needed him to survive.

“Trust me and I promise I will explain everything at the very first chance I get.” Grantaire held onto Enjolras’ arm tightly. 

Enjolras said nothing. 

Grantaire screamed out of desperation. “Enjolras, please!”

Enjolras tore his arm away from Grantaire’s grasp. He pursed his lips tightly and refused to look at Grantaire, but he dropped the pistol. He lifted the red flag into the air as he allowed two of the guards to drag him away, only to have them rip it out of his hand and toss it over a broken table that was part of the barricade. 

Grantaire scrambled to pick up the flag, holding onto it tightly. “I am going to fix this! I promise!” he shouted after Enjolras.

Enjolras looked back at him over his shoulder, his expression caught somewhere between a glare and a pleading look. 

“Your Highness,” the third guard reached out and grabbed Grantaire by the arm. “You must come with me.”

“Do not touch me,” Grantaire hissed. 

“You must come with me,” the guard repeated.

Grantaire snapped, “Do not lay a hand on me,” but went with them willingly.

Grantaire made his way down the barricade and when he reached the base two guards flanked him to ensure he did not escape. 

“R, where is Enjolras?!” Courfeyrac shouted. “Where is Combeferre?!”

Grantaire turned to look at him, opened his mouth to tell him not to resist anymore but found him to be held by several guards. “We will find them! Do not struggle, just go and they will not hurt you!”

Courfeyrac frowned, but he nodded and let the guards drag him away. 

Grantaire looked to one of the guards walking closely alongside him. “If he is harmed, I swear I will —”

“You will have to speak with the King about your worries, Your Highness,” the guard replied. “Here,” he gestured to a horse-drawn carriage, “please get inside.”

Grantaire huffed, but he climbed inside, crossed his arms, and stared out the window, making a point of not looking at the guards who rode with him at all. 

He was going to be sick. He was going back to the castle. He was going back to the life he had tried so hard to leave behind. 

He was about to meet the demons that he had long since buried alive.

***

“My son!” the Queen of France cried when Grantaire walked through the doors, into the throne room. “Oh, my son! We were told you had been found but I could hardly believe my ears! What happened to you? Are you hurt? Oh, good Lord, you are bleeding. Were they holding you hostage at that dreadful barricade?”

“No, mother!” Grantaire exclaimed, huffing when his mother was brushing her dainty hands over his cheeks, frowning at the dried up blood along the side of his face. 

“He was there by choice, according to what I have heard,” the King said slowly. 

Grantaire narrowed his eyes at his father. “Yes, I was,” he said firmly and his mother gasped. 

“You are a fool, Grantaire,” the King drawled. 

 

“You have always known that,” Grantaire said. 

“Yes, but even I never imagined you would run away, live a commoner’s life, and revolt against me,” the King said, and he didn’t sound angry or disappointed in his son. He sounded tired and he sounded bored. “You and your friends put up quite the fight.”

“Yes, we did,” Grantaire nodded. 

The King hummed. “Only five of your friends came quietly, though. The rest are being hauled away in wagons. Their blood is being scrubbed from the streets.”

Grantaire’s stomach flipped. He had no idea who was in the dungeons now, who had survived the barricade. He had no idea if Enjolras had gone quietly once he was out of earshot.

 

“I want to see them,” Grantaire said. 

“Of course you do,” the King said, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Go on, then. See if I care.”

“Oh, but —” the Queen began but her husband held up his hand. 

“All is well, my dear,” the King told her. “These criminals are being well guarded. Our son is going to be cleaned up now and by the time he gets down to the dungeons they will have already been questioned, we will have all the information we need. They are not going anywhere,” he assured her, then turned to Grantaire to add, “and neither are you.”

Grantaire’s nostrils flared, but he turned to go without another word. 

“Oh, and Grantaire?” the King said.

Grantaire turned back slowly. “What?” he snapped.

“Just keep in mind,” said the King. “No matter how much you hate it, you are one of us.”

Grantaire looked his father dead in the eyes. “I — will — never — be one of you.”

The King glared at him and the Queen opened her mouth to say something, but Grantaire turned on his heel and stormed from the throne room without a word.

***

“I am going in to see him,” was what Grantaire said to the soldiers standing in front of the door to Enjolras’ cell. 

“Your Highness, the leader of the rebels is in here, we cannot allow you to —” 

“You do not tell me what to do,” Grantaire snapped. “I have explicit permission from the King to see him. Let me through.”

The soldiers exchanged a sideways glance, then nodded and opened the cell door. Grantaire pushed past them and froze just past the doorway where the soldiers still stood. 

In the corner, Enjolras was sat with his knees hugged to his chest and his head bowed. He looked up slowly and the light coming from outside the cell shone on his face so that Grantaire could see the bruises and the cuts and the blood that was running down the side of his face. 

“You,” Enjolras said, pushing himself to his feet. 

“Enjolras,” Grantaire said. He stepped toward him, reaching out with one hand.

“You traitor!” Enjolras hissed. “You absolute coward! I swear to god, I’ll strangle you!” He was coming at Grantaire, fist raised, and Grantaire tried to warn him but it was too late. The soldiers were rushing forward, they had Enjolras restrained in an instant. 

“Let go of him!” Grantaire demanded. 

“But — but, Highness, he threatened —” 

“I am perfectly aware of what he has done!” Grantaire raised his voice and shot a nasty glare at the both of them. “And I am all too capable of handling myself, thank you very much, now if you please, let go of him.”

The soldiers were tentative but they slowly dropped Enjolras’ arms. 

“Leave us,” Grantaire ordered.

“Your Highness —”

“Do as I say!”

The soldiers looked at each other once more, unsure, but slowly they turned and left, securing the cell door behind themselves. 

Enjolras, to Grantaire’s great surprise, laughed. It was bitter and cold, though. Nothing like the way Grantaire could usually make Enjolras laugh, the way he could make him light up and throw his head back. “You certainly are not having trouble falling back into this old life of yours,” Enjolras spat. “Your Highness!”

Grantaire only looked at him, waiting patiently for whatever Enjolras would say next.

“You — you — I do not even know what to say to you.” Enjolras was shaking with anger. “You disgust me!”

Grantaire frowned and nodded once curtly. 

“Do you not have anything to say for yourself?” Enjolras narrowed his eyes. 

“I do,” Grantaire said. 

“Well, then, fucking say it,” Enjolras snapped. “They are going to kill me. They are going to kill us all! Except for you, of course, because you are the King’s son! All along, a liar, a spy, a traitor. The lost prince! Ha!” 

 

“Enj, please, I am not —” 

“Combeferre and Courfeyrac and Joly are locked away in a tiny little cell because of you!” Enjolras shouted. “I was beaten and interrogated because of you! Jehan was flogged and he is lying in a pool of his own blood somewhere because of you!”

“I swear to you, Enjolras, I never —”

“But then, you do not care, do you?” Enjolras snarled. “Because, as I have already said, you have only been a spy this whole time, and nothing more. You never cared for any of us. You never actually cared for me. You do not care that Jehan is probably dead already and that the rest of us will surely follow very soon —”

“I do care, I do!” Grantaire said. “I am not going to let that happen, okay? I am going to help you, I promise!”

“You played the cynic this whole time.” Enjolras shook his head slowly. “Little did we know that the only reason you didn’t believe in our cause was because you knew that we would fail… because you were feeding information back to the King the entire time!”

“Listen to me!” Grantaire begged.

“You know what makes it even worse, though?” Enjolras curled his fingers into tight fists. “You had the audacity to make me love you. Killing us all just was not enough for you. Breaking my body, my mind, and my soul was not enough… you needed my heart to, you bastard.”

Suddenly, Enjolras lunged forward and struck Grantaire. His fist met Grantaire’s cheek and Grantaire staggered backward and a few steps. 

“Good,” Grantaire said with a nod. “Get it all out. Hit me again.”

“What?”

“Hit me again. I deserve it.”

“I know you do!” Enjolras yelled and he hit Grantaire again. 

“I lied to you, I know,” Grantaire said. “But I swear, I never betrayed you. I never will betray you. And I swear, I will get you out of here, Enjolras.”

“Please do not make promises that you will not bother keeping,” Enjolras hissed. “Not anymore.”

Grantaire crossed his arms. “Can you please just hear me out?”

“No, I —”

“Enjolras, listen to me,” Grantaire hissed lowly, urgently, “you are in a very dangerous spot right now, okay? The king wants answers but he is an impatient man and you are a stubborn one. He will kill you, answers or no.”

“I will not give them the answers they want, not even if it will save my —”

“I know.”

“And I will die for my cause and —”

“I know!” Grantaire huffed. “But you do not have to, is what I am trying to tell you.”

“Wh—”

“Just listen,” Grantaire said. “I can get you out of here.”

“What?” Enjolras raised his eyebrows.

“I can get you out of here,” Grantaire said, “alive. At least I think I can. It will be hard, I will have to figure out a way to convince my father to set you free. But I am going to need you to trust me.”

Enjolras looked at him, skeptical, for a long while. 

“Please,” Grantaire said. “Trust me for just a little while and once you are free, I promise, you never have to see me again if you do not want to.”

Enjolras tilted his head curiously. “Why did you leave?”

“Excuse me?”

“If not to spy on us and help your father put a stop to our revolution,” Enjolras said, “then tell me your real reason. Why did you leave this place of comfort and all of the riches you could ever want?”

Grantaire huffed out an exasperated laugh. “I did what would have made you proud before I even met you. I ran away.”

Enjolras didn’t say anything. He waited patiently for a real answer to his question.

“I have not agreed with what my father is doing in years,” Grantaire shook his head. “Not since I was a very small child. Besides, I have always been a disappointment to him, and they do not need me. I have a brother who is everything my father could have ever hoped he would be. He is a good soldier, and one day he will be a king and he will be just like our father.

“I love my brother very much. I could not bear to sit around here and wait for him to become my father, I could not bear to watch that happen. He and I used to be so alike. As children, we were best friends. He was the only friend I had, and I was the only one he had. We were never allowed outside of the castle grounds, you see. But as we got older, he became enamored with my father’s laws, his ideas, his way of ruling. I was interested in other things. Art and literature, mostly. I had no care for politics, and that bothered my father to no end. But more than that, when I got even older and realized that my father’s way of ruling was all wrong, once I told him exactly what I thought of him…”

“What did you say to him?” Enjolras appeared to have temporarily forgotten his anger with Grantaire in favor of his curiosity. 

Grantaire laughed. “I told him we ought to be more like America. A democracy. I told him I was not foolish, that I had no dreams that that was a change we could make overnight, but if we could just take the first few steps towards a democratic government… Well, as it would turn out, I was being foolish. Foolish enough to think my father would listen to what I had to say. Foolish enough to think that he would ever give up his power.

“So I ran away. Like I said, I had never been allowed outside of the castle grounds so I knew that if I were to just go to a part of Paris where there weren’t likely to be many people who had seen the inside of the castle walls, then no one would recognize me. I had been treated so much like a doll my whole life, always wearing what they told me to wear, that once I’d change my clothes and cut my hair I hardly recognized myself. Logically, I should have left Paris. Actually, the smart thing to do would have been to leave France altogether. But curiosity and sentiment got the better of me. I was so eager to see what kind of Paris truly lived beyond these walls, and France — well — despite how my father runs it, France is my home. I love France.”

The small cell fell silent until Enjolras finally spoke in a small voice. “And then you found us.”

Grantaire nodded slowly. “I found you. I found you and you had all these crazy wonderful ideas. You were absolutely on the right track but none of your plans were ever going to work. I knew I could not tell you who I was because if it got out, if it reached ears beyond yours, I may have been sent back to the palace. But I wanted to make you see sense. I thought that if I could save you from yourself, from dying like a martyr, then maybe — oh, I do not know. Maybe I thought it would begin to atone for all of the things my father has done. Or maybe I just really really liked you. But you were stubborn and there was no changing your mind. You called me a cynic, you thought me an idiot, but I didn’t care. Because — because I —”

“Yes?” Enjolras persisted. 

“Because — oh, Enjolras,” Grantaire sighed. “Don’t you ever tell me that I made you love me. Accuse me of what you will but never ever accuse me of not loving you because all I have done for these past years have been for you and because I love you so much — so much more than I can possibly put into words.”

“Grantaire —”

“I am sorry,” Grantaire said. “Really I am. But I swear to you I tried to make you see.”

Enjolras frowned and eventually he nodded slowly. 

“If — if I had known that they would have taken you all hostage once they saw me, given me time to figure out how to save you,” Grantaire said slowly, “I would have turned myself over to this life from the start. I promise you, I thought they would have taken me and killed you all.”

Enjolras frowned again. “Grantaire, I — it was unfair of me to say that this was all your fault. This — it isn’t. I am sorry. They did not die because of you, they died because they went out to fight for a cause they believed in. If anything, Combeferre and Courfeyrac and Joly and I are all alive because of you.”

Grantaire blinked fast. “I wish I could have saved them all.”

“I know,” Enjolras said. “I wish I could have saved them too.”

“I am going to save you, though,” Grantaire said firmly. “I swear. I am going to save you, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and Joly. And if Jehan is still alive, then by God, I will save him too.”

Enjolras nodded. “I believe in you.”

Grantaire smiled. “That is all I have wanted since the day I met you.”

“I love you.” Enjolras smiled and pulled Grantaire into a tight hug. 

“I love you more,” Grantaire said. 

Enjolras laughed. “You are so argumentative.”

“Me?” Grantaire chuckled. “My dear, Apollo, have you met yourself?” He sighed. “I am going to get you out of here,” he told Enjolras again. “Do not worry about a thing.”

Enjolras smiled. “You should go see Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and Joly.”

Grantaire nodded. “I will now. I’ll come back and see you later on?”

“Good,” Enjolras said. 

“Okay,” Grantaire said. “Then I will say goodbye,” and with that, he left.

He received a much warmer initial welcome from the rest of the Amis. Combeferre seemed unsure of him and Joly was, admittedly, quite cold toward him but Courfeyrac ran and pulled him into a tight hug, relieved to see that he was okay. 

Grantaire told them the same story about how he had escaped from his family that he had told Enjolras and in the end, Combeferre and Joly were hugging him too. 

He was determined to save them. If he couldn’t save them, then what would he have left?

***

Dinner with his parents on his first night back in the castle was less than pleasant. Since his brother was off serving in a war, it was just Grantaire and his parents. 

They were using the smaller dining room and the King was sat at one end of the table while the queen was sat at the other. Grantaire sat closer to his mother than to his father because he could hardly bear to be near him.

“I want to negotiate,” Grantaire finally said when the silence became too much. 

His father raised his eyebrows. “Negotiate what?”

“Their fate,” Grantaire said. 

The king laughed. 

“I am serious,” Grantaire said. 

“I bet you are.” The king nodded. “But you have nothing to offer me.”

“I will stay,” Grantaire said. He’d been thinking long and hard about how he was going to persuade his father into letting them all live. This was the best he could come up with. It didn’t mean much to his father, sure, but to his mother… 

“Excuse me?” the King said.

Grantaire looked to his father, his jaw set. “You know that I will find a way out eventually. It may take years, and you may do your best to keep me locked up, but I promise you I will find a way. If you will not let them go, then I will leave. But if you set them free then I will stay here forever, I will never try to run from you again. I know that does not interest you all that much, but think about keeping up appearances, Father,” he spat the word ‘Father’ out as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. “What will people think if the King’s beloved,” he laughed coldly, “son, who went missing years ago, showed up at the palace with these criminals and then suddenly the prince disappears again!”

Grantaire’s mother opened her mouth to say something, presumably to beg her son not to leave her again, but the King held up his hand to silence her. 

“And what,” the King said, “is to keep you from breaking your end of the bargain?”

“My word will have to be good enough for you,” Grantaire said. 

“This sounds much more like an ultimatum than a negotiation to me,” said the King. 

“Then by all means,” Grantaire said with a shrug, “negotiate.”

“Well, as I hope you understand, appearances are very important to keep up,” the King told his son. “And how would it look if I took all of these schoolboys who have revolted against me hostage and then just set them free?”

“That is my condition for —”

“I know,” the King huffed. “Listen to me for once in your damn life. It is too soon to just let them go, but I will set them free after enough time has passed. Once all of this dies down, they will be placed in a home far away from Paris.”

“When will that be?” Grantaire asked. 

The King considered this for several moments before answering, “In a few months, I should think.”

“If they are to be here for a few months then I will not stand for them being locked in the dungeon,” Grantaire said hotly. “They will have their own rooms and they will be free to roam about the castle and the grounds as they please — do not look at me in that way, you can order the guards and the staff not to let such information outside of this castle and the walls that consolidate us from the rest of Paris are very tall. No one will see them from outside. This is a non-negotiable condition if they are to be kept here.”

“Nothing is non-negotiable,” the King told him. “But yes, very well,” the king huffed but he nodded. “One of them will have to be executed. Publicly.”

“What?” Grantaire said. 

“Well, someone has got to answer for all of this,” the King said. 

“No,” Grantaire said immediately.

“Only the leader,” the King said. “Your friends will still be freed in a few months time.”

Grantaire’s eyes widened in anger. “Absolutely not!”

“Your friends will be set free, Grantaire,” the King sighed. “Come now. It is not as if you were important enough to befriend the leader of this revolution, were you?”

Grantaire saw red. “I — he is —” he was breathing heavily, chest rising and falling visibly. He found that he was on his feet, hist fist slammed down on the table — he didn’t remember getting up. “He is my best friend, and I swear to God if you lay so much as another finger on him —”

“Alright, alright, sit down,” the Ling hissed and Grantaire glared but he obeyed, slowly sinking back into his seat. “He will be set free, as well, but we will be asking him some more questions.”

“Non-violently.” Grantaire waggled a finger at him threateningly. “You will interrogate him without touching him or not at all or I swear —”

“Yes, I heard you the first time, thank you.” The King massaged his temple. “You are the source of my headaches, Grantaire.”

“Yes, I know,” Grantaire said. 

“There was a boy,” the King said, “who the guards took to question. He was beaten.”

“Jehan.” Grantaire nodded.

The King rolled his eyes once, unable to imagine why his son would think he would care what the criminal’s name was. “He died.”

Grantaire frowned and bowed his head. “Okay,” he said because what else was there to say? Enjolras had already said that Jehan was probably dead. 

“If any of them put a single toe out of line —” the King began. 

“They are not dangerous,” Grantaire insisted, glaring. 

“So you say,” the King said, sitting back in his chair with his eyebrows raised. 

“They’re not,” Grantaire grumbled. 

“Oh?” said the King. “Where did you get that bruise around your eye, then?”

Grantaire slowly covered the black eye with his hand, poking it gingerly. Instead of answering the question he said, “I want to bring them to their rooms now.”

“The guest rooms in the North Wing should suffice,” the King said, and he waved his hand to tell Grantaire he was free to leave. 

Without another word, Grantaire leaped up and sped out of the room, striding straight past his mother who was reaching for him, opening her mouth to speak to him. He slammed the door behind himself and hurried to the cells deep beneath the castle. 

***

Grantaire paused in an empty hallway on the way down to the dungeon. He leaned against the cold stone wall and squeezed his eyes shut. 

“It’s not my fault,” he whispered to himself. “It’s not my fault, not my fault, not my fault. He would have died on the barricade.”

Grantaire drew a deep breath.

The truth is Jehan really would have died on the barricade if it weren’t for Grantaire, but it would have been a quicker death. Instead of being beaten to death it would have been a gunshot, maybe straight through his head. It might have been instant, virtually painless. 

I am not the one who beat him to death, he reminded himself, but the thought didn’t seem to help very much. 

He forced himself to stand up straight, he took another deep breath, and he set off toward the dungeon. He had four more friends who he could still help and he was going to do everything that was in his power for them.

The guards didn’t give him any trouble when he claimed that he was there to take all of the prisoners from the barricade to the North Wing. The King must have sent word to the guards in the dungeon to tell them what the fate of the prisoners was to be, and it must have arrived before Grantaire did. Perhaps because Grantaire had stopped to calm down after the news he’d received about Jehan, but Grantaire had long since begun suspecting that there were secret passageways hidden in the castle walls that a select few people knew about.

“Hello,” Grantaire greeted Enjolras. 

Instead of glowering at him and moving across the room to punch him in the face, this time Enjolras smiled. “Hello. Any news?”

“Come with me,” Grantaire said. “I have been negotiating. You cannot leave just yet, you will have to stay here for a while, but eventually, the King will set you free. And in the meantime, you, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and Joly get to stay in guest rooms in the North Wing.”

“Excellent,” Enjolras said. “And… Jehan?”

“He…” Grantaire began, releasing a shaky breath. “The king just told me — he just told me that he — uh —” he shook his head slowly. 

“Did not survive,” Enjolras finished Grantaire’s sentence.

“Right.” Grantaire nodded. 

Enjolras nodded too. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Grantaire asked. 

“Not now,” Enjolras said. “Tomorrow. We will talk about Jehan tomorrow.”

“And I want to know what has happened down here,” Grantaire said. “I want to know what they have done to you.”

Enjolras nodded. “But for now we need to get our friends and get out of this dungeon.”

Grantaire nodded and he smiled at his lover once more. “Yes. Let us go get them.”

***

“There are plenty of guest bedrooms in the North Wing,” Grantaire told his friends as he was leading them through the castle. “Certainly more than enough for each of you to have your own room, however —” he looked to Combeferre and Courfeyrac questioningly and the small glance that they shared and bashful smiles aimed toward Grantaire were answer enough. He nodded. “You two can have a room together, then, and Joly and Enjolras you will each get a room.”

He led them into the North Wing and down a long corridor. “How about — here seems alright. In you go.”

Enjolras, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and Joly walked through the door that Grantaire was holding open for them with mouths agape and eyes wide. Grantaire followed them inside, closing the door behind himself, and watched them all in mild amusement. 

The room was very nice, there was no doubt about that. The furthest wall had a huge window with a long, cushioned bench built into the wall in front of it, and the curtains that hung on other side of the window were heavy and deep blue. The bed was a four poster made of sleek, dark wood — as was all of the furniture — and there were thinner curtains hanging from each post that were the same deep blue as the window’s curtains as well as the large, fuzzy rug that was laid out in the middle of the shiny wooden floor. The bed held the fluffiest, softest looking pillows and the warmest blankets imaginable. The walls were blue, but they were a bit lighter than the curtains in the room and they were adorned with shining golden detail.

“Whoa,” Courfeyrac said as his eyes traveled up to the glimmering crystal chandelier that hung from the center of the ceiling. 

“Do you need anything?” Grantaire asked. “Any of you? I am going to get some things to clean that,” he said, pointing to cut that ran along the side of Enjolras’ face. 

“Some food and water would be absolutely wonderful, honestly,” Combeferre said. 

“Right, yes.” Grantaire nodded. “It has been far too long since any of have eaten. Anything else?”

His friends shook their heads so he nodded again, told them he would be back soon, then hurried off to the infirmary and the kitchen.

They all waited in silence for several moments after Grantaire had left, the door swinging shut behind him. They listened intently to Grantaire’s echoing footsteps that grew fainter and fainter as he headed out of the North Wing. 

Once they were all certain Grantaire was out of earshot, Combeferre was the first to speak. “Enjolras, what do you think? Are we going to trust him?”

Before Enjolras could so much as open his mouth, Courfeyrac was shouting, “Of course we are, what are you on about?!”

“Courfeyrac, please —” Combeferre began but Courfeyrac cut him off.

“He is our friend!” Courfeyrac snapped at the three people in the room with him. He looked around at them all, at their terribly somber expressions. “Are you all crazy? He is our friend. He explained himself.”

“I asked Enjolras,” Combeferre said simply. 

“Enjolras is blinded by love,” Joly pointed out. 

“I am not blinded by love!” Enjolras protested. “Did you see the bruise he has on his face? Because that is what he got when he first went down to see me. However, after talking to him, after hearing his story — his explanation — yes, I trust him. He got us out of those cells, did he not?”

“I did not say that we should not trust him,” Joly said matter-of-factly. “I only think that we should be cautious.”

“He would never do anything to hurt us,” Courfeyrac said with a frown. 

“Honestly,” Combeferre said, “no, I do not think that he would.”

“Well, we did not think him a prince until today either,” Joly said. “Who knows what he is actually capable of.”

“He has no reason to lie to us about his intentions,” Enjolras said. “We are prisoners of the royal family. If he wanted anything from us, then he has the means, and if he wanted us to be locked away, then we already were thrown into cells. But instead of leaving us there or — or using us in whatever way he might want to, he has us in very nice bedrooms and he is doing his best to get us out of here.”

“And we are free to wander the castle as we please,” Courfeyrac pointed out. “So yes, we are still prisoners for the time being, but we do not have to be bored or go hungry or endure some kind of horrific torture because of Grantaire. We are alive because of Grantaire.”

Combeferre nodded. “Good point.”

“Yes,” Joly said. “I just — I still think we should be careful. That is all.”

“Of course,” Enjolras said. “We are all in this mess together, boys. And we are going to get out of it together. Us, and Grantaire.”

“I wonder if Jehan is in the infirmary or with a doctor or something,” Joly said. “I forgot to ask Grantaire before he left.”

Enjolras’ face fell. 

“Oh, Jehan, poor thing.” Courfeyrac’s expression suddenly turned very serious. “I didn’t know if I should be worried or relieved when the screaming finally stopped.”

“Boys,” Enjolras said, voice barely above a whisper.

“What did they do to him, anyway?” Combeferre wondered aloud. 

“I do not know,” Joly said, shaking his head. “Something awful.”

“Boys,” Enjolras said again. 

“Hm?” Joly turned to Enjolras. 

“Jehan,” Enjolras said slowly, “did not make it.”

“What?” Courfeyrac frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“The king told Grantaire a little while ago.” Enjolras frowned. “Just before he came to release us from the dungeon. Jehan died.”

“No,” Joly hissed. 

“But he — he cannot be —” Courfeyrac shook his head, blinking back tears. “No.”

“We lost a lot these past few days,” Enjolras sighed. “But we are going to be okay. We are going to talk through all of this with Grantaire in the morning — fill him in on what happened in the dungeon, figure out exactly what happened to Jehan — but for now, we are going to get some food and drink into ourselves when Grantaire returns, then we are going to get some sleep. Okay?”

They all nodded.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'll give you a lil bit more since y'all seem to like it so much and i'm always eager to please :) 
> 
> but it really isn't done yet so updates aren't gonna be super frequent and i'm going to try and hold off posting most of it until it's done so i'm not under a lot of stress to tap out an update. MAYBE i'll give you a couple more chapters before the whole thing is finished

Grantaire snuck quietly into Enjolras’ room in the morning. He carried a tray of breakfast food in hand as he quietly entered the room, only to find that not only was Enjolras awake, but Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and Joly were already gathered in his room with him. 

“Good morning.” Grantaire smiled. “I have breakfast for everyone.” He set the large silver platter down on the bedside table. “Take whatever you like, there are plates, napkins, silverware, and cups all right there.”

Each of them made a plate of food because though their appetites were less than what they used to be, they’d been practically starved for a couple of days. They settled down on the bed. They ate in silence, none of them ready to begin the conversation that they knew they had to have. But eventually, they were all finished with their breakfast. 

Grantaire sighed. “Okay,” he said. “Enjolras, did you already tell everyone about —”

“Yes,” Enjolras said. 

“Okay,” Grantaire said again. “So what exactly happened down there? How did Jehan end up on his own?” He asked, then added to Enjolras, “How did you end up on your own?”

“Right,” Courfeyrac said. “So they had us all in a room together, all five us. They obviously wanted to know who our leader is, who had started this whole thing.”

“Enjolras wanted to tell them it was him, of course.” Joly rolled his eyes. “Figured it would save us all. Always the hero, he is. But we wouldn’t let him, of course.”

“So they grabbed one of us at random,” Combeferre said, “and it just happened to be Jehan, and they dragged him away. That was the last that Courfeyrac, Joly, and I ever saw of him.”

“We all heard him, though.” Joly frowned. 

“The screams were — they were deafening,” Courfeyrac said. “It was horrific. He was so close, only a few rooms away, but we couldn’t do anything to help him.”

“And then after a while,” Combeferre said, “quite a long while too, Jehan stopped screaming and just started bawling and then one of the guards came back to our cell. He grabbed Enjolras and that was it.”

“After that, the three of us were totally in the dark,” Joly said. “They didn’t seem to care about any of us anymore. They did not tell us a thing. But it really was not very hard to figure out what had happened. Jehan cracked. They were torturing him and he just broke and told them who our leader is.”

“So what happened?” Grantaire asked Enjolras.

“Jehan did crack,” Enjolras said, staring blankly into space. “They beat him so badly. They took me to him, to make sure they had the right person. His back was just —” he paused a moment, looking like he might be sick, “— mangled. Flesh tore apart, blood everywhere. He was lying in a pool of it and just sobbing. They asked him if I was the right guy and he would not answer, but he asked them not to hurt me and I guess that was enough of an answer for them because they took me away to a new cell after that and — and I never saw Jehan again after that. But I heard him screaming.”

“Yes.” Courfeyrac nodded. “The screaming started again soon after that. It did not stop for a long time.”

“I started to think it would never stop,” Combeferre said gravely. 

“I just cannot fathom why they would start on him again,” Joly said. “They got what they wanted.”

The room fell silent then. The quiet was heavy, weighing down on them so that they couldn’t breathe. 

“Grantaire,” Joly said at last. 

“Hm?” Grantaire replied. 

“Did you see him?” Joly asked. 

“No.” Grantaire frowned. “I am afraid I did not.”

Again, the room fell silent.

“We need something to take our minds off of all of this,” Grantaire decided aloud. He clapped his hands together. “Come on, I am going to give you a tour of the castle.”

“A tour?” Courfeyrac grinned. 

“A grand tour!” Grantaire exclaimed. “I have absolutely terrible memories of growing up here, but it really is a very beautiful place and just for that I insist you see it all!”

Enjolras smiled. “Well, then, lead the way, Monsieur.”

“Gladly, mon amour.” Grantaire took Enjolras’ hand in his own and kissed it gently. “Come along, all.”

They all leaped up from the bed and hurried to get their shoes on then followed Grantaire out into the shining castle. He led them from one corridor to the next and straight through a double doorway. 

“A library!” Combeferre’s face lit up, looking around in wonder at the shelves of books that lined every inch of every wall.

“Yes, I thought you would like it,” Grantaire chuckled. “I used to sneak out of my bed in the middle of the night and read for hours by candlelight. It would make my parents so angry but I did not care.”

“This is incredible.” Enjolras smiled. 

“Come here anytime that you please,” Grantaire said. “Over here is an entire section dedicated to medicine.”

Combeferre and Joly looked like they might burst they were so happy. 

“Yes, I thought you might like the sound of that.” Grantaire smiled. “Well, follow me. There is much more to be seen.”

Grantaire led them from the library and dove into a magnificent tour of the palace. And though he hated the sight of it, he really did have some good memories of his childhood. Good memories of hours spent alone in the library or sneaking down to the kitchens and learning to cook. 

Grantaire brought his friends to the kitchens and in moments the staff was whispering and looking his way in surprise. Rosalie, the head cook who was a short and stout woman with brilliantly red hair, came running over. She grabbed Grantaire by the front of his waistcoat and yanked him down to her level, crushing him in a hug that could have suffocated him had she not let go before long.

“If yeh ever scare me like that again, I don’t care ‘bout royalty or not royalty, I’ll take my rolling pin an’ I’ll beat yeh with it!”

Grantaire chuckled. “I have missed you, Rosa.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve missed yeh as well,” Rosalie said with a smile. “An’ I s’pose these are them student revolutionaries that’re the talk o’ the castle. Yeh lookin’ rough, boys.”

Enjolras, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and Joly all exchanged glances. They opened and shut their mouths, unsure if they should say anything or just keep quiet. 

Rosalie snorted. “‘Taire, yeh know how we feel ‘bout yer dad down ‘ere in the kitchens. Job’s a job an’ times are tough so we keep to ourselves, keep quiet I mean, but still — vive le France!”

Enjolras grinned. 

Grantaire took his friends to his room from there, showed them his personal collection of art and literature that was stored in what he called a walk-in closet but was more like another room. He took them to his childhood bedroom that had been shared with his brother and he showed them where he had played as a child. His expression was somber and he did his best to hide the pain in his eyes — he knew he’d grown up privileged, but he would have rather grown up poor with parents who loved him and cared about what he wanted in life. 

“Can we see the gardens?” Courfeyrac asked. 

“Of course.” Grantaire nodded.

So they went out and toured the gardens. Courfeyrac wondered at all of the flowers, going on and on and on about how beautiful they were; how well kept that were.

“Jehan would have loved the gardens,” Joly said sadly. 

Grantaire turned to him, frowning. “Joly, I am so sorry —”

Then, without warning, Joly lunged forward and captured Grantaire in a tight hug. Grantaire hugged him back just as tightly. “Thank you, Joly,” he said, “thank you.”

“Oh!” Courfeyrac exclaimed and latched onto the two of them together. “Come on, Enjolras, Combeferre! Join us!”

Combeferre and Enjolras joined the tight group hug with grins on their faces. 

“We can do this,” Courfeyrac said. “I know we can get through this.”

“We can do anything as long as we are all together,” Combeferre agreed. 

“All of us are going to get out of here,” Enjolras said. “I am sure of it.”

Grantaire thought that perhaps now was a good time to mention that he would not be leaving this place with them; perhaps he should mention that he would not be leaving this place ever. But he shook the thoughts away quickly and held onto his friends a little tighter. There was no need to sadden them at a time such as this, he decided. 

***

Grantaire was alone late that evening. Dinner had been completely silent with his mother and father. He had begged his father to let him eat with his friends in the North Wing where dinner had been served to the hostages in the guest dining room, but his father had refused. 

Grantaire was on the balcony that connected to his room; the balcony that overlooked the gardens. His room was on a very high level of the palace, but still not high up enough that he could see over the tall stone walls that protected the royal family from the outside world — or, rather, secluded them from the rest of Paris. 

With a deep breath in and out, Grantaire closed his eyes. Memories of his childhood were creeping up on him like demons, clawing at his heart and soul, threatening to pull him downward into the dark abyss. He’d been there before and he almost hadn’t been able to claw his way out.

Then someone was knocking on his bedroom door and Grantaire was thankfully torn from his dark thoughts. He turned and stepped over the threshold into his room. 

“Who is it?” Grantaire called across his room. 

“Me,” Enjolras’ voice spoke. 

Grantaire smiled and moved across the bedroom quickly. He threw the double door open, beaming at his lover. “Hello.”

“Hello,” Enjolras said, returning his smile. “May I come in?”

“Of course,” Grantaire said. He stepped aside and gestured for Enjolras to enter, bowing to him as he passed by then closing the doors behind him. 

“Is it not I who am supposed to bow to you?” Enjolras asked, amused. 

“No.” Grantaire shook his head, moving toward Enjolras. “For royalty is nothing. Not to me, not next to you. For you, my dear — you are a god. You are Apollo, come to walk among us and bless us with your presence, come to make the wretched world a better place just because you walk with us.”

“My dearest, R,” Enjolras sighed, wrapping his arms around Grantaire’s neck and pulling him into a deep kiss. 

Granatire breathed out happily and a content smile spread across his face. He rested his forehead on Enjolras’ shoulder. “It has been too long since I have gotten to kiss you.”

Enjolras chuckled. “It has only been a couple days.”

“It has felt like a lifetime,” Grantaire sighed. 

“True.” Enjolras nodded. 

Grantaire lifted his head up. “Would you like to see the gardens?”

“We saw them earlier, remember?” Enjolras raised his eyebrows.

Grantaire only smirked in response. He took Enjolras by the hand and pulled him toward the balcony. “Yes, you saw them earlier,” he said and he dropped Enjolras’ hand and leaned against the railing again, “however you did not seem them like this. Not by the light of the moon and the stars, and you could not see the whole thing at once.”

Enjolras’ mouth hung open slightly. “Wow,” he breathed. “It is gorgeous.”

“I thought you had no care for beauty,” Grantaire chuckled. “Only justice and revolution and France.”

“Well, I fell for you, did I not? You think that was because of the shit that spews out of your mouth?” Enjolras joked and Grantaire laughed loudly. 

Grantaire stared down at the ground below for a long time and his smile slowly disappeared. There were his demons again, trying to drag him down, trying to drown him in his own mind. 

“Grantaire?” Enjolras said. “What are you thinking about?”

“The night I ran away,” Grantaire admitted. “I stood here for such a long time, wondering if I should really do it, wondering if I could really make it on my own out there in a world that I had always longed for and heard stories about but never been allowed to see for myself.”

Enjolras watched Grantaire as he spoke; as he was still staring down at the ground that was far below — it was so far below. 

“Grantaire, why did you stand here?” Enjolras asked slowly. 

“Do not ask.” Grantaire frowned. “I cannot answer.”

“Please — please tell me you did not —” Enjolras frowned. 

“Enjolras, I think you and I both know that I value my life much less than any normal person should.” Grantaire smiled.

“Grantaire.”

“Please do not start this, Enjolras,” Grantaire said. “I did not do it. I am not going to off myself now.”

“How can I be sure of that?” Enjolras frowned. “God, Grantaire I — I do not want to leave you alone at all — ever — now that I —”

“I have you.”

Enjolras tilted his head, confused. “Excuse me?”

“I have you,” Grantaire repeated. He reached out and held Enjolras’ face in his hands. “As long as I have you, life is worthwhile.”

Enjolras sighed. “I love you so much. I am — I cannot tell you how happy I am that you are still here.”

“I love you, too,” Grantaire said and he smiled. “And so am I. If I had never met you I — it would be a tragedy for me to have never known you and all of your glory.”

Enjolras smiled. “Come with me tonight.”

“I will not jump off the balcony if you leave me for an evening,” Grantaire promised.

“I believe you,” Enjolras said. “But it would make me feel better if I had you at my side right now so I can assure myself you are safe. Besides, what use is there for us to be parted?”

“I thought that, perhaps, you would not want me to sleep in your bed yet,” Grantaire said. “After the barricade, after Jehan, after everything that has happened in the past forty eight hours… I just wanted to give you space should you need it.”

“Thank you,” Enjolras said and he rested one hand on Grantaire’s shoulder. “I suppose I did need some space for a little while, but not now. I trust you, totally and completely, Grantaire. Come to bed with me.”

Grantaire smiled. “Anything you wish, Apollo.”

***

Early on the morning of June eighth Enjolras woke with Grantaire wrapped in his arms, nuzzled safely against his chest. Enjolras smiled, content, for now, to forget his troubles and just lie in bed with Grantaire cuddled up so very close to him. 

The door burst open then, suddenly and without any kind of warning. 

“Courfeyrac!” Enjolras hissed at the same time Grantaire bolted up and shouted, “Up! I’m awake! I’m up!”

“You can sleep, Taire,” Combeferre, who was standing behind Courfeyrac alongside Joly, said. “Courfeyrac is just acting like a fool, as per usual.”

Courfeyrac feigned hurt. “Combeferre, how dare you say such an awful thing to me!”

Grantaire chuckled. “Is there anything you want to see today?”

“Maybe later, but right now I would like to see some food,” Courfeyrac said.

“Got it,” Grantaire said and he crawled out of bed. “I will pay Rosalie a visit in the kitchens and I will be back soon with some breakfast for all of us.”

“Amazing!” Courfeyrac grinned. 

“Oh, good, I feel starved,” Joly sighed. 

Grantaire hurried from the room and down to the kitchens. Despite what he told his friends of the ABC he would not be back soon because Rosalie insisted on cooking them up a gourmet breakfast and piling as much food as she possibly could onto a huge tray that Grantaire wasn’t entirely sure he’d be able to carry back to Enjolras’ room all on his own. She also insisted on asking him a million and one questions about his years spent living on the outskirts of Paris, the people he met, the places he went. It was a while before he was able to tear himself away. 

“Sorry that I took so long,” Grantaire laughed, struggling to get through the door with the heavy tray in his hands. “Rosalie really could talk someone’s ears off if she — what is the matter? Wait a second, where is —”

His friends were stood all around the room, faces pale. Courfeyrac was chewing on his fingernails, Joly was in the corner with his hand clasped over his mouth looking like he might cry, Combeferre was pacing restlessly, and Enjolras was nowhere to be seen. 

Grantaire set the tray down on a table that stood in the middle of the room. “Where is Enjolras?” he asked, concerned. 

Combeferre stopped his pacing and looked at Grantaire sadly. “Some guards came and they — they said that they were taking him for interrogation.”

Grantaire frowned. “I will go and make sure they do not lay a hand on him. He will be fine, I promise, okay?”

His friends nodded, looking numb and unbelieving. He couldn’t blame them. 

Grantaire ran from the room, headed straight for the dungeons, but as he was approaching the entrance to the throne room he could hear harsh voices coming from within, demanding answers, a sharp smack, and a low grunt. 

Grantaire stopped dead in his tracks, breathing hard and listening carefully. 

“Names! Give me names, boy!” a grumbling voice demanded. 

“I said no!”

Smack!

There was another grunt.

Grantaire shoved the doors opened and burst into the throne room. The scene that met him left him fuming; his whole face had gone bright red and there was practically steam coming out of his ears.

His father was perched on his precious throne, watching over the interrogation before him. There were several guards; lining the walls, on either side of the throne, standing around Enjolras, and one standing right in front of Enjolras and glaring down at him. Enjolras was on his knees, leaning on one hand and clutching one side of his face with the other. 

“Grantaire,” the King said slowly. “What are you doing here?”

“I told you,” Grantaire seethed, “that if you were going to interrogate him then it was to be done non-violently. I told you not to lay a finger on him!”

“He was not cooperating,” the King said simply and he shrugged. “I had to resort to more extreme measures.”

“I don’t care!” Grantaire snapped. “Now, he is coming with me.”

“He has not answered a single one of my questions,” the King said. “He will not be going anywhere until he answers my questions.”

“We had a deal,” Grantaire said. “You were to ask him your questions peacefully, no matter what. You broke that deal, so I am taking him with me now. Or perhaps I will forget my end of the deal.”

“That would only result in the death of each of your very dear friends.” The King smirked. 

Grantaire glared. “Nonetheless, you will uphold your end of the deal. After all, you have a reputation to lose should I go out and spill all of your secrets to the world.”

The King huffed. “Very well. Begone from my sight.”

“Gladly,” Grantaire spat.

Grantaire helped Enjolras — who, thankfully, had waited very patiently and very quietly on the ground while Grantaire argued with his father — to his feet. Grantaire would not have put it past Enjolras to stand and put up a fight in the matter. 

“Can you walk?” Grantaire asked softly. 

“It is only my face,” Enjolras chuckled. 

All the same, Grantaire put an arm around Enjolras and led him from the room. “Let me see your eye,” he said. 

“It’s fine, Grantaire,” Enjolras sighed. 

“It’s not,” Grantaire huffed. “I told him — I told him very specifically — if he wanted to interrogate you then fine, but he was not to lay a hand on you, no one was to lay a hand on you! I — I — I am —”

“Grantaire.”

“What?”

“What is your end of the deal?”

“Huh?”

“You said something about your end of the deal.” Enjolras frowned. “How you convinced him to let us live, how you convinced him to eventually set us free. How did you do that? What is your end of the deal?”

“Don’t you worry your pretty blond head about that, my dear,” Grantaire said with a smile. 

“I am worried, though.” Enjolras shrugged away from Grantaire and he stopped in his tracks. “What did you promise him for us?”

“It does not matter,” Grantaire hissed. “All that matters is that you and Courfeyrac and Combeferre and Joly are safe.”

“And you, Grantaire!” Enjolras shouted, hand flying away from where it had still been covering his eye to wave dramatically in the air. “You always forget about yourself! Stop forgetting to keep yourself safe too!”

“Oh, Enj,” Grantaire sighed sadly. “Your eye.”

It was swollen shut and already turning a dark shade of purple. 

“Grantaire, do not try to change the subject on me!” Enjolras snapped angrily. 

“I am not trying to but just — just look at it, oh my god!” Grantaire frowned. “Come on with me, we need to get some ice on that.”

“We are going to talk about this!” Enjolras huffed. 

“Yes! Fine! We will have this talk,” Grantaire said, “but not right now — not today, Enjolras, I am tired and under a lot of stress and so are you and so are all of our friends. We do not need to be doing this right now. 

“I think this is the perfect time to be doing this,” Enjolras said matter-of-factly, arms crossed.

“Well I hate to be the one to burst your bubble but not everything you think is necessarily right,” Grantaire snapped right back at him. “We are not having this   
discussion right now because I blatantly refuse and that is that! So come with me so that Combeferre and Joly can take a look at your eye right now or I swear to god, Enjolras, I will drag you there by your ears!”

Enjolras scoffed at Grantaire who turned on his heels and marched down the corridor, obviously expecting Enjolras to follow, which he did, albeit reluctantly. 

Once they were back in the North Wing and Combeferre and Joly got to take a good look at Enjolras’ eye Grantaire left once again and returned soon after with a bag of ice for Enjolras so hold to his eye. 

“Enjolras, are you okay?” Courfeyrac asked a while later after the room had been immersed in an agonizing silence for a long time. 

Enjolras smiled. “I am going to be just fine.”

“What did they ask you?” Joly questioned. 

“They just wanted names and places,” Enjolras sighed, shrugging. 

“You know that we would not have thought less of you if you’d given any information up to them.” Combeferre frowned. “They hurt you, Enjolras. We’d rather see to it that you are okay.”

“I would have thought less of me,” Enjolras said. 

“Everyone is dead anyway,” Joly said bitterly and everyone looked to him, eyes wide and eyebrows high. “I — I am sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s just — I just miss them. I miss them all so much.”

Courfeyrac nodded slowly in agreement. 

“I know how you feel,” Grantaire said. 

Grantaire walked over to the bed and sat down beside Courfeyrac. Enjolras, Combeferre, and Joly all slowly made their way over as well until they were all sat comfortably. 

“Has anyone else been having nightmares?” Joly asked suddenly. 

“Yes,” Enjolras answered quickly. 

Grantaire nodded sharply and Courfeyrac and Combeferre both voiced their agreement as well. 

“Really, really terrible nightmares,” Courfeyrac said. 

“I have been dreaming about Jehan,” Grantaire said. 

Combeferre frowned. “Grantaire, it is not your fault that he —”

“I know, I know,” Grantaire said, “but still, I just keep thinking if I had gotten to my father just a little bit sooner then maybe —” he paused and sighed, “— so, yes, I have been dreaming of Jehan. The thing is, they are not all that bad at first. Just him, sitting in the cafe, leaning over his journals with his beloved fountain pen in his hand. His poetry was the most beautiful poetry, I always told him that and he never believed me. And his handwriting — it was exquisite, curly and perfect. He always thought it was atrocious, though, and I could never understand it.”

“He did say that,” Enjolras laughed. “It was the craziest thing because, truly, as you said, his writing was impeccable.”

They all smiled. 

“Bossuet could trip over his shadow, to be quite honest,” Combeferre said, still smiling broadly at the memory of Jehan and now at the memory of Bossuet. “He had to look where he was going all the time otherwise — oh, anything could have happened to that man. But he was never without a smile. Misfortune plagued him wherever he went, but everything he did, he did it with a smile.”

“Oh, Bossuet.” Joly grinned.

“And Marius,” Enjolras sighed, “he was a fool but he was brave, he was loyal. He had so much love in his heart.”

“Feuilly and his hideous obsession with Poland,” Joly laughed. “‘Long live Poland!’ We should have taken that boy to Poland when we had the chance.”

“Where would we have gotten the money to travel across half of France, Belgium, and Germany to get Feuilly into Poland?” Grantaire snorted. 

Joly nodded. “Okay, you make a good point.”

“Gavroche,” Courfeyrac said with tears in his eyes and the room fell silent and no one was smiling anymore. “He had — he had so much spirit. He — oh, Gavroche.”

“Courf,” Combeferre sighed and he pulled Courfeyrac into his arms, held him closely and kissed his cheek. 

“Who — who was the girl?” Enjolras asked. “She dressed as a man and she died in the rain, in Marius’ arms.”

“Eponine,” Grantaire said. “Marius said her name was Eponine.”

“She was very brave,” Enjolras said, nodding slowly. “I don’t even know where she came from, but she was so very brave.”

“We were all brave,” Grantaire said. “Every single one of us up on that barricade was brave and one day, I swear to you, everyone who lost their lives that night will be remembered. No matter how long it takes, it will happen.”

“I hope so.” Joly nodded, staring out the window. “They deserve it.”

***

June ninth was a much happier day than the one that came before it. 

In the morning when Grantaire and Enjolras woke they held onto each other.

Grantaire went off to the kitchens before long, returning with a huge tray of breakfast prepared by Rosalie and her finest chefs. When he walked into the room, Enjolras was talking with Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and Joly. 

After they all ate their food, they headed to the library and read the morning away happily. They all curled up in chairs all over the place in different sections.

At lunchtime, they all took a trip down to the kitchens to visit Rosalie and the chefs and they ate more than enough there. Rosalie talked their ears off as they were quickly coming to recognize as the norm for a trip to the kitchens. 

After lunch they went for a long stroll in the gardens, chatting about anything pleasant that happened to come to mind. They kept the conversations happy, though, not daring to dampen the good mood they all seemed to be in that day. 

At dinnertime Grantaire was expected to join his parents for their meal so the friends of the ABC went back to the North Wing to dine while Grantaire was made to suffer in the company of the King and Queen, but the moment he was excused from the dining table he rushed to be at his friends’ sides. 

When they all grew tired, eyes beginning to droop shut despite how hard they were trying to keep the pleasant conversations flowing, Courfeyrac and Combeferre retired to their room together. Joly bid Enjolras and Grantaire a good night and returned to his own room, and Grantaire wrapped his arms around Enjolras with a smile. 

“Goodnight,” Enjolras murmured. “I love you.”

“I love you so much.”

And so their days began to pass thus, more or less. Some days were spent almost entirely in the library if it was raining, or if it was particularly warm and breezy they would take books from the library and go read among the flowers. Other days, Joly and Combeferre would disappear into the library for the day while Enjolras and Grantaire would stroll hand-in-hand through the gardens and Courfeyrac would go to the kitchens and Rosalie would teach him how to cook. 

Many weeks went by and as July was drawing to a close Grantaire was finding that the castle was really taking a liking to Les Amis de l'ABC. The cooks all adored them; many of the younger guardsmen were amused with them and one could ever find them joking with Courfeyrac.

Though most of the students of the ABC were only admired from afar by some of the palace staff, Courfeyrac went so far as to befriend the youngest of the guardsmen who were still new to the palace, and his cooking skills were coming along incredibly according to Rosalie. 

All in all, despite the circumstances, Enjolras, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and Joly were settling into the castle nicely — which was, again, much to the dismay of the King. Sometimes he would see them passing by in the corridors or through his window when they were out in the gardens and his blood would just boil — he wanted to crush them! He wanted them dragged to the dungeons for interrogation and he wanted answers beaten out of them!

That pompous Enjolras wouldn’t answer any of the King’s questions, and he couldn’t risk upsetting Grantaire to the point he would leave. You see, as much as the King did not care for his youngest son, the one person he loved more than anyone or anything else in the world, more than his power and more than France, was his wife. He would do anything for her and he knew that if Grantaire disappeared again it would break his Queen’s heart. 

He was getting some answers, of course, but that was still a secret; a work in progress, in some ways… 

The first day of August was terribly hot and no matter what they tried Grantaire, Enjolras, Joly, Courfeyrac, and Combeferre could not find any way to cool down. 

Finally, in the middle of the day, Grantaire got up from where he was laying on the ground — the five friends thought that if they laid in the gardens then perhaps a breeze would come about sooner or later. “Follow me,” he said and he hurried off down the path. 

Everyone groaned but they followed him nonetheless, down the path and into the patch of trees planted on the east end of the property and all the way to the edge of a lake. There, Grantaire was already stripping down to his underclothes and grinning. 

“Well, come on!” He laughed right before he leaped into the water. 

Courfeyrac was the first to follow and soon they were all in the water, finally cooled down, finally just floating. Days like this made it easy to forget all that had been lost; the summer had been so good. 

But all good things must come to an end.


	3. Chapter 3

A few days into August Grantaire burst into Enjolras’ room, made for the bed, swung one leg over Enjolras’ waist, pushed him down against the mattress, and kissed him hard.

 

“Well, hello to you, too,” Enjolras said, grinning up at him. 

 

“He is insufferable!” Grantaire exclaimed in reply. “He makes  _ everything  _ about either him and how he is so much better than me or he makes it about my  _ brother  _ and how he is so much better than me!”

 

“Just relax, we will be out of here soon enough,” Enjolras sighed. 

 

Grantaire only grunted and kissed Enjolras again. 

 

“I am going to take your shirt off now,” Enjolras told Grantaire.

 

“Be my guest,” Grantaire smirked. 

 

Enjolras tore away the vest and pulled fast at the buttons of his shirt. He pushed the sleeves down his arms, took it off, and threw it to the side. 

 

“You are,” Grantaire said, smiling down at Enjolras as he ran his fingers through Grantaire’s hair, “so beautiful.”

 

Enjolras grinned and Grantaire was slowly dragging his shirt down his shoulders. “I love you,” Enjolras said and leaned in to kiss him at the same time the door flew open. “ _ Courfeyrac! _ ”

 

“Enjolras!” Courfeyrac shouted indifferently.

 

“Could you, perhaps, consider  _ knocking  _ next time?!” Enjolras huffed, buttoning his shirt back up. 

 

Grantaire slid off the bed to retrieve his shirt and waistcoat, quickly redressing himself. 

 

“Sorry, but this is important!” Courfeyrac huffed. “It could not wait!”

 

Enjolras only glared at him in response and Grantaire sighed in a disappointed way, “I beg to differ.”

 

“Listen!” Courfeyrac said. “Jehan is alive!”

 

Grantaire and Enjolras looked at him, eyes wide, and their frustration with their friend was suddenly forgotten.

 

“What are you on about?” Grantaire squinted his eyes. 

 

“Jehan is alive!” Courfeyrac repeated himself. “One of the guardsmen told me! He said they have kept him locked up all of this time for interrogation — he felt bad because he has gotten to know me —”

 

Grantaire bolted from the room and his face had already turned an angry shade of red that spread down his neck and up to his ears.

 

His blood was boiling as he stormed into throne room, yelling —  _ screaming  _ at the top of his lungs. “How dare you! How  _ dare you!  _ We had a deal and you lied to me! I cannot believe you — I cannot  _ fucking  _ believe you!”

 

_ Way to be calm, R.  _ His thoughts came to him in Enjolras’ voice. 

 

“Watch your mouth!” the King stood. The Queen was sat at his side looking very confused. 

 

“Jehan is alive, you  _ bastard  _ —”

 

“ _ Grantaire! _ ” the Queen cried in shock. 

 

“He is alive and you told me he was  _ dead! _ ” Grantaire shouted angrily. “And you have kept him locked up for all of this time doing  _ god knows what  _ to him! I will not stand for it! You leave  _ all of them  _ be, you set  _ all of them  _ free or it is all null! I am not subjecting myself to a life of being locked up in this place for nothing! It is not for you to go behind my back and  _ beat the living shit out of my friends!  _ I will not stand for it! You are not upholding your end of the deal!”

 

“Do you understand what I am doing for you?” the King narrowed his eyes. “Four of these  _ criminals  _ are allowed to waltz about the palace as they please, eat like nobilities, sleep on the finest beds in all of France, and you have my word that they will be set free when the time is right, and —”

 

“I know!” Grantaire interrupted. “But that does not give you the right to lie and tell me my friend is dead and keep him locked up when I have told you that I will stay here  _ forever  _ as long as all of the men who have been taken hostage here were set free.  _ All of them.  _ Jehan is one of those men.”

 

“I want more information from him first,” the King said as if this settled things. “If he survives, then you can have him back.”

 

“What have you gotten out of him already?” Grantaire narrowed his eyes. “And how did you get it?”

 

“I have names,” the King told him. “More of these student revolutionaries, I have their names.”

 

“Oh, so you have the names of a bunch of  _ dead people, _ ” Grantaire said. 

 

“Yes,” the King said. 

 

“What more do you want?” Grantaire huffed. 

 

“I want to know where these meetings were held, I want all of the names of those involved,” the King said simply. 

 

“Everyone involved is dead, as far as anyone knows,” Grantaire said. “Nobody in this place will be able to tell you any more than that.”

 

“Nonetheless, I want names.” 

 

“I will give them to you tomorrow. I will answer your questions.” Grantaire crossed his arms. “However today, I want Jehan back  _ today. _ ”

 

“I will not have  _ my  _ physicians wasting their time on a —”

 

“Deliver him to the North Wing and we will take care of the rest,” Grantaire said. 

 

The King laughed. “What are  _ you  _ going to do to save him?”

 

Grantaire arched one eyebrow. “Combeferre and Joly were studying to be doctors before all of this happened.”

  
“Hm, what bright futures they have thrown away,”  The King sighed. Then he tilted his head, considering Grantaire’s proposal carefully. “You must swear to me that you will answer any question I have truthfully.”

 

“As long as you promise to never lay another hand on Jehan.” Grantaire nodded. “Then I swear it.”

 

“Then I suppose we are in agreement.” The King said. “I will send word to the dungeons and you may go and collect your friend immediately.”

 

Grantaire nodded once then turned on his heel and hurried swiftly from the room.

 

***

 

Grantaire didn’t know what exactly he had been expecting so he couldn’t quite say whether Jehan was in a better or worse state than Grantaire had predicted him to be in. 

 

They brought Jehan to the room that was to the left of Combeferre and Courfeyrac’s and they laid him down on his front on the bed. They were trying to ask Jehan questions but he was writhing and yelling. 

 

“He is out of it,” Joly said. He shook his head and examined Jehan’s wounds carefully. “He is so out of it.”

 

“Do we have any kind of sedative?” Combeferre asked.

 

“No, the hospital wing would not grant those to me,” Grantaire said. 

 

“Well, shit,” Combeferre hissed. 

 

“We will just have to hold him down,” Joly said regretfully. 

 

“Is it going to hurt him a lot? To clean the wounds?” Courfeyrac asked, looking down at Jehan’s back — and it  _ was  _ a right mess if any of them had ever seen one, blood and torn skin cut so deeply. 

 

“I am afraid so,” Joly said, nodding. 

 

Jehan writhed more violently, trying to squirm his way out of Combeferre and Joly’s grasp.

 

“Courfeyrac, come on this side,” Combeferre said gently. “Hold his arm, like this — there you go, perfect, one hand on the shoulder, one between the elbow and the wrist. Thank you, love… Enjolras, you do the same on that side. Grantaire, I need you to sit on his feet and hold him down at his knees.”

 

They each did as they were told, holding Jehan down hard against the bed. 

 

“Please, please, please,  _ please stop  _ —”

 

“Remember that this is for his own good,” Joly said, looking Courfeyrac, Enjolras, and Grantaire each in the eye in turn. “It is going to hurt him, but if we do not do it then he will die.”

 

The three of them nodded slowly. 

 

“Do you think —” Courfeyrac began, then paused and considered shutting his mouth, but in the end, he decided to go ahead. “Do you think he even knows who we are?”

 

“Not right now.” Combeferre shook his head. “He is too far gone right now.”

 

“He must be so scared,” Grantaire said shakily. 

 

“Yes.” Joly nodded. “But remember, this is for Jehan. This will make him better.”

 

“ _ Please  _ —  _ no  _ —” Jehan sobbed, struggling against his friends’ hands. 

 

Combeferre leaned down so that his mouth was right beside Jehan’s ear and he whispered, “I am so, so sorry for this.” He stood up straight then, took a deep breath.

 

“You — you  _ do not have to do this  _ —”

 

“Ready?” Joly asked. 

 

“No.” Combeferre shook his head, but he held out his hand expectantly. 

 

Joly placed a dry cloth in Combeferre’s outstretched hand. 

 

“You are going to scrub with a dry cloth?” Enjolras frowned. 

 

“ _ Please do not do this to me  _ —”

 

“We are not going to scrub — not yet,” Joly said. “We need to sop up all of this excess blood first.”

 

“ _I will tell_ — _you anything_ — _you want_ — _to_ _know_ — but _please_ stop!”

 

Courfeyrac bowed his head to hide the tears in his eyes. 

 

“Three —” Combeferre said, “ — two — one.”

 

Combeferre and Joly both pressed their cloths to Jehan’s bleeding back and let the cloths sit and absorb. 

 

Jehan screamed louder. “ _ PLEASE  _ —  _ NO MORE  _ —  _ NO MORE  _ — ”

 

“Sshhh, sshhh, sshhh,” Combeferre soothed, using his free hand to gently stroke Jehan’s hair. “It is all going to be okay.”

 

They threw their cloths into basins they had set out on the floor then grabbed new ones and immediately pressed them to Jehan’s back. 

 

It didn’t take long before they reached the root of their problem as there hadn’t been much excess blood, but as soon as it was gone Combeferre and Joly frowned. Jehan was still sobbing softly as they looked over his wounds. 

 

“Is that dirt?” Grantaire frowned. 

 

“I think so,” Combeferre said. “How could he have gotten dirt in his wounds though?”

 

“Well, they just left him laying on the floor of that little cell,” Grantaire sighed. “It is filthy down there.”

 

“Ugh,” Joly huffed, disgusted. 

 

“Please please  _ please  _ —”

 

“We are going to have to scrub his wounds,” Combeferre said softly. 

 

Jehan whimpered  — it was a high pitched and desperate whimper, begging for them to stop. 

 

“Jehan, can you talk to us?” Courfeyrac asked desperately but Jehan only whimpered a second time in response. “Do you really have to do this?” Courfeyrac asked Combeferre.

 

Combeferre nodded slowly. “He will die if we do not,” he sighed. 

 

“Alright,” Joly said. “We should get this over with.”

  
Jehan’s screams could be heard throughout much of the castle. 

 

***

 

Enjolras looked up when Grantaire walked out of the doorway in front of him. Enjolras had been sat on the cold, stone floor for hours, gaze directed down at his hands, waiting patiently for Grantaire’s return. 

 

“You did not have to wait for me,” Grantaire sighed. He held out his hand, which Enjolras took, and pulled Enjolras to his feet. 

 

“What did they want with you?” Was Enjolras’ response.

 

“Only what I promised them,” Grantaire said and he strode down the hallway. 

 

Enjolras kept close to Grantaire’s side. “And what was that?” He raised his eyebrows. 

 

“Answers.”

 

“Answers? Grantaire, what did you tell them?”

 

“Names, where our meetings were held, what small rallies we were responsible for.”

 

“Grantaire!”   
  


“ _ What? _ ” Grantaire spun around to look Enjolras dead in the eye. “You cannot tell me that what I have done was wrong. I will not let them hurt Jehan more than they already have, I  _ will not allow it! _ ”

 

“You are still blaming yourself!” Enjolras frowned. “You are blaming yourself for Jehan’s death and he isn’t even dead!”

 

“Of course I am,” Grantaire huffed. “But that is not what this is about.”

 

“What is it about then?” Enjolras stuck his hands on his hips.

 

“This is about keeping my father content,” Grantaire said. “Do you not see? He still holds all of the power. I act like I have some sort of control over him but in the end, if he wants you dead he can drag you to the dungeons and have your head chopped off!”

 

“Why has he not already done so?” Enjolras tilted his head. 

 

“No, stop that,” Grantaire snapped. “We are still not having this conversation. Not now.”

 

“Why, Grantaire?” Enjolras huffed as Grantaire started to walk again, headed hurriedly for the North Wing. “What are you not telling me? What is so horrible that you have to hide it from —”

 

Enjolras was cut off abruptly by Grantaire spinning around once more, taking him by the shoulders, and pulling him into a deep kiss. 

 

“What was that for?” Enjolras asked. “Not to say that I am complaining, but  —”

 

Grantaire sighed, shook his head slowly. “Just know that I love you… And that I would do anything for you.” And with that, he turned and walked away. 

 

Enjolras stood in the middle of the corridor by himself for a while, staring after Grantaire until he couldn’t see him anymore. He sighed deeply and tried to shake his worried thoughts away, but he just couldn’t seem to do it. 

 

Enjolras had always known that Grantaire’s sense of self-preservation was subpar at best, but ever since he’d come to the palace he was seeing more and more every day that Grantaire didn’t have much sense of self-preservation  _ at all.  _ Everything he did, he did for Enjolras and for his friends.

 

He was pulled very suddenly from his thoughts when he heard the shuffling sound of footsteps nearby. He looked around to find the source but to no avail. 

 

Enjolras frowned. “Grantaire!” he shouted and he chased after him. 

 

Enjolras caught up to Grantaire just as he was walking into Jehan’s room. 

 

“How is he doing today?” Grantaire asked. “Has he woken up at all?”

 

Combeferre was carefully tending to the swollen but clean wounds that took up most of Jehan’s back. “Not yet,” he sighed.

 

Courfeyrac was sat in a chair at Jehan’s bedside with his head rested sideways on the bed, looking into Jehan’s face as he slept. He hand was curled around Jehan’s. “We will have to wake him eventually. He needs food and water.”

 

“Courfeyrac is right.” Enjolras nodded. 

 

“We should wait as long as we can,” Combeferre said. “He is going to be in a lot of pain when he wakes up. Nothing like yesterday, but all the same.”

 

“Where is Joly?” Grantaire asked. 

 

“He stayed with Jehan all night,” Combeferre said. “He is sleeping now.”

 

“Good,” Grantaire said. 

 

Combeferre cautiously bandaged Jehan’s wounds when he was finished tending to them and then he carefully laid the blanket over his friend. “Jehan,” he said slowly, “could very well make it. But he also may not. I am doing everything in my power.”

 

“He will be just fine. And you will all be out of here soon,” Grantaire promised. “It has been three months, it cannot be much longer now.”

 

“It could be,” Enjolras said with a small shrug. “Like you said to me, your father has all of the power. If he wants us dead, we are dead. If he wants us trapped here forever then the same goes.”

 

“I will make sure you are free once again,” Grantaire said. “Do not worry about it. For now, comfort Jehan. Ensure he is well again. I will handle the rest.”

 

Enjolras frowned after Grantaire as he stormed from the room. Enjolras turned to Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and a still sleeping Jehan with a heavy sigh. 

 

“Something bothering you, Enj?” Combeferre asked. 

 

Courfeyrac lifted his head off the bed once more and looked to Enjolras. “Aside from, you know, the obvious,” he added.

 

“I do not know, to be perfectly honest,” Enjolras said. He pulled up a chair beside Courfeyrac and sat down. “Tensions are running high between Grantaire and myself as of late and —” he paused and sighed again. “What do you think he promised the King in order to convince him to…  _ do all of this?  _ We are not dead, we are not locked in the dungeons, we are free to move about the palace as we please, and we have the promise of  _ eventually  _ being set free. What could Grantaire have possibly said to make him do all of this?”

 

Courfeyrac frowned. “Do you think Grantaire is in some kind of danger?”

 

Enjolras did not answer. He was unsure. Courfeyrac looked to Combeferre then, in question, to see what  _ he  _ made of the matter at hand.

 

“I do not know what to think anymore,” Combeferre admitted. “Everything is so confusing. Every day is a struggle.”

 

Enjolras and Courfeyrac nodded slowly in agreement.

 

“More like a battle,” Enjolras said. “A  _ war. _ ”

 

“We will protect him though,” Combeferre said and he sat down opposite Courfeyrac and Enjolras. “He has saved us, and we will save him if the need presents itself. And Enjolras, you and Grantaire will be fine. Everything will be fine.”

 

“I am loving this reckless optimism from you.” Courfeyrac smiled fondly. “It is very unlike you but it is very…  _ sexy. _ ”

 

“I have learned from the best,” Combeferre said and he returned the smile. 

 

Enjolras sighed heavily. “I had better go and speak with Grantaire.”

 

“Yes, go and find him,” Courfeyrac agreed.

 

“Come and fetch me if Jehan wakes,” Enjolras said. 

 

“We will,” Combeferre promised. 

 

So Enjolras set off toward Grantaire’s bedroom, figuring that that was the best place to look for him first. He knocked thrice on the door and moments later it swung open. 

 

“Enjolras,” Grantaire sighed.

 

“May I come in?” Enjolras asked. 

 

Grantaire nodded slowly. “Yes. Come, please.”

 

“I do not wish to fight with you, Grantaire,” Enjolras said as he stepped over the threshold into Grantaire's room. “Especially not now, not with the circumstances we have weighing down on us. We need to remain a team if we are to make it through.”

 

Grantaire smiled. “I am so glad you think so,” he said with a sigh of relief. He gestured to his bed, “Would you relax with me?”

 

“Yes,” Enjolras agreed. He kicked off his shoes and Grantaire did the same and they climbed beneath the covers. They held each other close.    
  
“I truly have faith that Jehan will be alright,” Granatire said. “I really think he is going to  —”

 

“Let us talk of happier things,” Enjolras requested. “Do not misunderstand me, I am overjoyed that Jehan is alive and shall be well again, but we have had a long a tiresome day Grantaire. Let us talk of the  _ good. _ ”

 

“Your wish is my command,” Grantaire said with a smile. “What do you want to talk about then, my love?”

 

“The future,” Enjolras said with an air of excitement in his voice. 

 

“What about it?” Grantaire asked.

 

“What are we going to do with our lives? When we get out of here, I mean,” Enjolras said. “We could go anywhere.”

 

“I am going to see to it that there is somewhere to live, out in the countryside,” Grantaire said. “Somewhere that my father’s people will never come and bother you.”

 

“Yes, but we could go anywhere!” Enjolras said. 

 

“Enjolras, you love France,” Grantaire said. 

 

“But it is where we have lost so much,” Enjolras said. “We lost so much to the good of France, Grantaire, and look where it has gotten us.”

 

“Enj —”

 

“So many of our friends  _ died  _ here,” Enjolras huffed. “I do not think I shall ever forget the way Bossuet looked lying face down in a pool of his own blood. I will never wipe away the image of Marius sprawled out on the ground by the sewers. My dreams will be haunted, for the rest of my life, with little Gavroche and that ugly bleeding hole in his forehead. I can still hear Musichetta  _ sobbing  _ because she asked me if Joly was dead or alive and I said I did not know.”

 

“But, still, I thought that you would never betray France,” Grantaire said.

 

“I will not betray France, but I will leave her,” Enjolras said. “For she has left all of my men to die.”

 

“Happier thoughts, Enjolras,” Grantaire sighed. 

 

Enjolras frowned and nodded. “I am sorry.”

 

“As I said before, your wish is my command,” Grantaire said. “I am sorry to have doubted you. We will leave, if that is what you want. Where would you like to go to?”

 

“England, perhaps,” Enjolras said thoughtfully. “Germany? Or maybe America!”

 

Grantaire snorted. “I would never have guessed you were the type to go to America.”

 

“They say it is where dreams come true,” Enjolras said. “We can go, start a new life. Start a life  _ together,  _ Grantaire.”

 

Grantaire shifted uncomfortably. “You know,” he said, “they do not take any better to queers in the land of the free, home of the brave than they do here in good old France.”

 

“Yes,” Enjolras sighed. “I know. We can still have a life together. We will manage.”

 

“Yes,” Grantaire said. “We will have to, will we not? Whatever comes our way.”

 

“Whatever comes our way.” Enjolras smiled. 

 

For the second time in as many days, Courfeyrac barged in on Enjolras and Grantaire while the two lovers were having a moment of connection. Fortunately, they were not in such a compromising position as the last time it happened. 

 

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Courf, do you know how to  —”

 

“Jehan is awake!” Courfeyrac bellowed then turned and took off back toward the North Wing. 

 

Grantaire and Enjolras sat bolt right up, looked at each other for a moment with wide eyes, then tore back the covers and barreled after Courfeyrac. 

 

They burst into the room much louder than was strictly necessary and Joly, who was up and about now, shushed them harshly. 

 

Combeferre was talking to Jehan in a soft voice and Jehan was sniffling.

 

“Please, go away,” Jehan whimpered. “Please — no more —  _ no more. _ ”

 

“Jehan —”

 

“How do you know my name?” Jehan choked back a sob.

 

“— listen to me carefully, okay? We will not hurt you. We do not want to hurt you, we want to  _ help  _ you. We are you  _ friends  _ —”

 

“ _ You hurt me, you hurt me, you  _ —”

 

“Jehan —” Combeferre said. 

  
“No! Stop!” Jehan yelped. 

 

“He is not wrong,” Courfeyrac sniffled. “We hurt him. We held him down and hurt him.”

 

“It was for his own good,” Joly snapped.    
  
“Yes, we saved his life,” Courfeyrac said. “I do not regret it. But he will never trust us again.”

 

“He will, darling,” Combeferre sighed. He walked around the bed and pulled Courfeyrac into his arms, holding onto him tightly. “Love, he does not know who we are. He is still so out of it.”

 

“He is healing,” Joly said. “His body, and his mind. Both are healing. It will take time but if he makes it through —”

 

“ _ When  _ he makes it through,” Grantaire said. 

 

“Yes, I am sorry,” Joly said. “When he makes it through and he is well again, he will know us. He will remember us from before and he will trust us.”

 

“Grantaire,” Jehan said suddenly. “Grantaire,  _ help.  _ Don’t let them hurt me,  _ please! _ ”

 

Everyone looked from Grantaire, to Jehan, and back again with eyebrows raised curiously. 

 

“Why does he —” Grantaire began but he was interrupted by Joly slapping his forehead.

 

“Of course!” Joly exclaimed. “How could we be so ignorant?! Grantaire is the key to helping Jehan to be well again — Grantaire was at his feet when we were cleaning his wounds! And Jehan was on his back, of course! Jehan did not  _ see  _ Grantaire, so —”

 

“Grantaire,  _ please! _ ”

 

“So no matter his current state of mind, his memories of Grantaire are not tainted!” Combeferre exclaimed.

 

“Genius,” Enjolras breathed with a smile.    
  
“So — so it is up to me to make him well again?” Grantaire asked. 

  
“You just need to be there for him,” Combeferre said. “Be his friend because right now, as far as he knows, you are his only friend.”

 

“But it is  _ my fault  _ he is in this situation,” Grantaire said. 

 

“Grantaire,” Enjolras huffed. “Stop blaming yourself for his death when he is lying right there, living and breathing. Stop blaming yourself for his beatings when you did not know of them. You are not to blame —  _ you saved him. _ ”

 

“Now you need to save him one more time,” Joly said. 

 

Grantaire looked around at his friends, all looking at him expectantly, and at Jehan who was whimpering pathetically and calling for him to help him. “Oh,” he sighed, “alright. Very well.”

 

He crossed the room, sat himself down on the bed, and maneuvered Jehan so that he was lain across Grantaire’s lap.

 

“Grantaire.”

 

“Yes. It is me.”

 

“We are the only ones left.”

 

“I am here, Jehan. That is all you need to concern yourself with right now. Rest, my friend.”

 

Combeferre and Joly ushered Enjolras and Courfeyrac silently from the room. Grantaire ran a hand gently through Jehan’s curls as he began to cry again. 

 

“You will be well again soon. I promise.”


End file.
